My slender fingers traced the red markings on my arms, memorizing the familiar patterns feeling the slight differences in the rise and fall of my skin. It pulsed and tugged at my skin with a strange numb like tingle, reminding me of the familiar tingle one would get in their foot once it had fallen asleep, but this was slightly more irritating, due to the fact that it only tingled under the red markings that covered my arms and the high of my back. I didn't really understand the markings, they were different, and I could see something new in them every time. For instance, today I saw antlers and branches dripping willow vines and clouds, somehow seeing all these things in the same abstract markings.

Taking my left hand off the underside of my right forearm I tugged my sleeves down a little farther over my arms. Not unlike most rangers I wore active attire, black tights that came up to the middle of my thighs and clung there an inch or two bellow my tan shorts tied off at my waist with a thick belt that I had to wrap about my waist a little more than once. I wore a black tank-top with thin straps that looped around my shoulders which were covered by my oversized and worn-out sage-green sweater. The boots were thick and clunky but were easy to run and climb in.

Here I sat – cramped in a small pub with what seemed like two dozen small hobbits – I was completely out of my element here. Sure, I had seen hobbits before but I wasn't used to be waiting an hour or two for a wizard to show up. I was slightly nervous as I stared at the clock on the wall above a frazzled looking hobbit barmaid. She had dark curls that ran down her back in silky ringlets, pale blue ribbons tied around her half up bun. Her green eyes were tried but cheerful, and her posture was relaxed and she walked easily around the tables and swooning hobbits.

I used to be like that, familiar with my surroundings I mean. I remembered the white city of Gondor and the not-so-white herb shop I lived in with my mom and grandma. My mother was Anna Everfell, which had not been her maiden name. I don't remember my father because he died when I was young but that didn't stop me from talking to him, even though I often wondered if he could actually hear me. Sometimes I would blabber on about various things and the miscellaneous thoughts that rushed through my head like a winding river that – over time – eroded groves in the earth and dug deeper every year, every month, every week, and every day. Over time I had been more open with whoever I thought was listening.

I guess it would be right about now that one would wonder whom I was referring to when I said I. Well, I am Valerie Everfell, a sorceress of the wilds, formerly of Gondor. I flexed my hand on the counter, looking at my spoon that leaned against the ceramic rim of my tea cup. The spoon was mostly hidden by the thick black liquid in the cup that I had requested special. Hazelnut and cocoa herbal tea, a small swirl of white cream in the center, waiting to be mixed in with the warm drink.

Absentmindedly I focused hard on the spoon and felt my arms ache as the markings pulsed with a soft – almost electric – energy. The spoon wobbled in place and I felt my head ache with the effort of moving a single spoon why did I ever let that Gandalf the Grey talk me into this. It had been a perfectly normal weekend just east of Bree when I had been very rudely interrupted on a hunt for my next paycheck; now I was here... surrounded by delectable foods and a thin layer of pipe smoke that hung on the ceiling before it swirled out the door or up the chimney and into the cool summer night air.

The spoon was stirring the tea with ease now as I let my mind wonder, twirling a strand of my quartz white hair around my pinky finger which was nearly the same color. I was pale and that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was a sorceress, it just so happened to be because I was tired and lazy and preferred to stay inside – preferably wrapped up in a nice blanket with some fuzzy socks and a cup of hazelnut tea, cinnamon dusted across the surface of the white cream.

"Anything else I can get for you?" my head snapped up and I quickly put a hand down on my cup, stopping the spoon from spinning round. "You've only had a few chips since you got here." the barmaid was standing in front of me on the other side of the counter. I looked down at my plate which had once been home to a few pieces of golden brown and buttery potato slices that had been cooked to perfection; crispy on the outside and mushy in the middle.

"Oh, uh no, thank you though; just the tea for me." I smiled, trying to seem casual and I leaned on the counter, my elbows propped up on the surface. "I should be leaving soon." I added quickly and the barmaid nodded before turning away to place a load of dishes in the back.

I sipped at my drink, feeling the sweet liquid pour down my throat and heat up my tongue as it spread its warmth though my abdomen. Without hesitation, I finished the drink off and placed the still-warm cup to my stomach, easing the cramping pain in my abdomen. The tingling of the markings on my skin eased up and evaporated in my system and I breathed out slowly as the pain in my stomach hid itself away until further notice.

Pulling my bag off the floor from beside me I pulled out a few coins from a leather pouch stashed within the largest compartment of the tan kaki bag. I slung it over my shoulder and felt it shift on my back against my jacket. I had an ash grey cloak wrapped around my shoulders, the seam hidden by my elbow length quartz colored hair, most of it was pulled back in cornrows on the sides of my head before leading up into a high ponytail with smaller braids tangled within the tail of hair that was pulled between my cloak and the strap of my bag.

I passed them to the barmaid with a gentle smile and a 'thank you,' as I left. I avoided bumping into people, seeing as that made the tingles and the pain worse, and I stepped out the door past a particularly round hobbit. I left my bag brush against the door frame as I sidestepped to avoid a hobbit boy and girl who must have been a little older than me, but it was hard to tell with them all being so soft faced and sweet looking. I didn't dare to ask of anyone their age as it might seem rude, just randomly walking up to someone and saying 'hi, I was wondering how old you were'. It sounds mean to me.

Anyway, it was late and I was tried – irritated, annoyed, hungry, excited, etc. – but I still had plans and appointments I intended to keep. I was not given too much information, and all I remembered was Gandalf telling me that supper would be provided, but I live a fair way away so I ended up starting off from home early, passed Bree within the first half hour and found that I could take the buckeberry ferry across the lake and shave nearly twenty miles off my journey.

I had stopped at the pub in my spare time and ate a few chips because I was so hungry and I remembered that completely ignoring the spread at a party was rude, but so was eating too much of it. This was something my mother Anna taught me, and my grandmother Brianna was in charge of everything magic related; gran had even taught me how to light a candle by blowing on it instead of using fingers or willing the field around the wick to change.

My mother hadn't been a witch, but she was a fantastic herbologist, often taking me on small trips to collect herbs around Gondor and even Rohan. I so missed the feeling of being able to walk around without having to worry about the amount of sound of your own footsteps. The wilds were so unbearably different when you had to face them alone, all with anxiety bubbling in your chest as you listed for any sign of a pursuer. I was lucky in my type of situation – I had a place to sleep – granted it was only a shack – access to food, and not to mention my improving accuracy with a sword, two of which hung on my belt, making soft thumping sounds that were muffled against my legs.

Gandalf hadn't given me a map, but I did have a rune to seek out. As I walked up a soft and well-trodden lane my shadow mixed and mingled with that of the bushes and hills that rose up. The hobbit-holes were beautifully wreathed in greenery, flora and small benches that were placed amongst the flowering shrubbery.

No one was out, all the small hobbits were indoors, eating supper or the after cakes; the golden lamp light spilled out of rounded windows and onto the lawns before their houses. No one would be able to see me, no one would see what I could do. I listened for a moment before I lifted my hand, focusing my energy in my pointer finger, and I with three streaks in the air I stared at the red rune that hung suspended in the air, pulsating with energy. With my right hand I held the rune image and used my left to twist it around, and mutter a quick location spell.

"Find it." I whispered when the incoherent mumbling stopped and the rune twitched before it twisted in the air and quickly started off up the path and over a hill. I started off after it, panting by the time I reached the top hill and I braced my hands on my knees, looking up to see the rune hovering in the air. I held out my hand and the rune evaporated, the thin tendrils of energy weaving into my arm, finding home in the red markings on my skin.

"Couldn't Gandalf get the guy at the bottom of the hill?" I mumbled to myself as I adjusted my back and looked up at the hobbit-hole I stood before.

The hobbit-hole was significantly larger than the others I had passed. The front door was round and painted green, a small rune glowing at the rim near the bottom, pale blue and glittering softly. The flowers around the hill were well-tended and delicate. Everything was healthy and green... I could smell the moist soil and the various seats of flowers around. There was faint chatter between two people thought the most I heard was the sound of an anxious higher pitched voice chattering nervously. I hesitantly held up my fist and pressed my lips together,

If I did this – if I knocked – I would be stuck with Gandalf for who knows how long. I knew what I'd get out of this, a fourteenth share of the treasure that flooded through vast dwarvish halls deep underground. Call me shallow but I needed that money, and I wanted it.

"Nervous laddie?" someone chuckled behind me and I quickly turned to face the score of the question. A dwarf stood not five feet away from me, and he was smiling a little. He was white haired with a combed beard and wild hair atop his head. His nose was rather large, but he had a kind face that one would liken to that of a grandfather. The dwarf looked stunned as his eyes met mine and he shifted, straightening his robes and looked up at me, face going almost as red as his crimson robes.

"Oh, sorry my lady." he bowed apologetically, and I held a hand out quickly.

"Please don't be sorry." I said, completely unperturbed by the fact he thought I was a lad from behind. "It happens more often than you think, it's my bag... hopefully." I added with a playful smile, trying to not be so bashful.

"Oh." the dwarf smiled and held out a gloved hand, and smiling under his big nose. "Balin," he greeted, "at your service."

I smiled and held out my own hand – which was only partly gloved, excluding my fingers – taking his hand in mine. "Valerie Everfell, thank you."

After I had shaken his hand Balin stuck out his right hand and pulled a brass cord that hung down from under the two-inch awning. The cord rattled as a cheerful 'bring' ran through the house. I stood awkwardly beside Balin as we waited on the porch for a moment before the shuffling of feet stopped and the knob turned as the door opened. Golden light spilled out over us and illuminated my face, backlighting our host.

The hobbit that stood before us was shorter than me by almost two feet. He couldn't have been more than 3 foot 6. His hair was set with a halo of caramel curls with brown eyes flicked with umber and almond undertones. His nose was slightly larger with a soft looking face that was set in a stressed and shocked expression. He looked as though he hadn't been expecting us.

"Balin, at your service." Balin bowed with arms spread wide a smile on his cheerful face. He looked like Father Christmas to my mind.

"Good evening." the hobbit mumbled, still looking rather shocked and his eyes were fixed on Balin.

"Yes, yes, it is." Balin said stepping into the house. "Though I think it might rain later. Am I late?" Balin asked and I followed him inside tentatively, quickly whipping off my boots on the mat outside.

"...late for what?" the hobbit trailed off, stretching out the 'L'. The tinkling of iron against glass drew my attention to the left side of the hall that opened up into a parlor. The smell of cooked fish and potatoes hung in the air along with cheese biscuits and seed-cakes. A large dwarf was trying to squeeze his beefy hand into a glass cookie jar, shaking it as he tried to reach the cookies.

"Oh!" Balin exclaimed next to me and I jumped a little before the dwarf shaking the cookie jar stopped and looked over at us. "Evening brother." Balin smiled cheekily and took a step down into the parlor and walked towards the other dwarf who chuckled.

"By my beard. You're shorter and wider last we met." This dwarf was mostly bald with his hairline receding to the tips of his ears all the way around his head in a coal grey tangle. There were tattoos atop his head and his beard was thick and touched with salt and pepper strands. He was tall and about the biggest dwarf I have ever seen, but I was taller still.

"Wider not shorter – sharp enough for the both of us." Balin smirked at his so-called brother.

"Would you like me to take that my good... lady?" I turned to look at the hobbit who motioned onwards my bag and my jacket. I ignored the fact that he was unsure if he should call me lady or not, I guess I looked worse than I thought.

"Thank you." I mumbled with a smile and he helped me strip myself of my bag cloak and jacket. I was almost immediately glad that I had saved and washed my pits before I had come, grateful for the lack of stink.

There was a rather loud slamming sound of skull colliding with skull and I followed the hobbit's gaze towards the two dwarves who only chuckled at each other.

"Excuse me but I am not entirely sure you are in the right house." The hobbit interjected as the dwarfs turned and walked away from us, ignoring the hobbit completely. "Right..." He mumbled a I looked down at him before I held out my hand.

"Valerie Everfell; a beautiful garden you have out there." If I knew the mannerisms of hobbits – which I did – that was one of the highest compliments I could bestow.

"Bilbo Baggins. Thank you, my lady." Bilbo – what a nice name – Bilbo Baggins...